


Future.

by Ricky B (littletoes101)



Series: Dangan Rising: V3 Kids [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Baby, F/M, Kidfic, Pregnancy, i love these two dumb idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 02:43:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15427278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletoes101/pseuds/Ricky%20B
Summary: Korekiyo's future is bright. [KorkMugi fic + baby.]





	Future.

In the end, they settle on the name _Mirai_. There’s a lot of back and forth before they get there, though.

Korekiyo says he wants to name her something wild and exotic, something that will forever set her apart from the other children her age. Tsumugi says she wants to name her after a character who will give her strong values and morals to look up to. They don’t fight, but there is quite a bit of bickering, which ends in Tsumugi and Korekiyo both texting the group chat at the same time asking for advice.

Of course, that gets mixed results. Shuichi stays out of it for the most part. Kokichi suggests they name her after a meme (to which Korekiyo violently protests and Tsumugi laughs). Rantaro says they should name her after something they both enjoy, but Korekiyo and Tsumugi manage to agree that “Ramen” is not an appropriate name for a child. Everyone else has their own suggestions, but it’s mostly dominated with the more level-headed members of the group (namely, Kirumi and Ryoma) begging them to “please just name her something normal.”

Surprisingly enough, it’s Kaede who gives them what they’re looking for.

_Name her after something she can look forward to!_ She sends to the group chat, chipper as always.

Korekiyo sees it first, and he pauses. Then he says, “Mirai,” rolling the name over his tongue and testing each syllable, each letter carefully. Future. Their daughter’s name will be future.

He has apprehensions about giving their daughter any sort of “M” name for a reason, but Mirai is far enough away from Miyadera to let him relax.

(Ignore the fact that there’s something whispering in his ear saying _I know you want to do it, you want her named after me because I_ _’m your true love, I’m the only one you could ever ever ever_ — and he digs his fingers into his thighs to stop the voice.)

Tsumugi’s weight against his chest gives Korekiyo pause, and he tilts his head down, his dark hair cascading over his shoulders and mingling with hers in a delicate fashion. He puts one hand on the swell of Tsumugi’s belly, hoping to feel her move. She doesn’t disappoint, giving her father a sharp kick to his palm.

“Mirai Shinguuji,” Tsumugi murmurs, letting her head rest fully against Korekiyo’s chest. “Doesn’t she feel so much more real now that she has a name?”

“Indeed,” Korekiyo agrees. “And what a beautiful name it is, for a no doubt beautiful child.”

They’ve been through so much just to get here. A bout of bad luck their first year trying to conceive almost led Korekiyo to believe he truly was cursed, that there was something wrong with him, that he would never be able to give his wife the child she so desired. But bad luck is all it was, and around a year after they first started trying, Tsumugi woke him with a kiss and pressed a positive pregnancy test into his hand.

And now, here they are. Weeks away from his beloved’s due date, and although she complains of sore feet and an aching back among other things, Tsumugi still smiles when Korekiyo leans his face in close to her belly to speak to their daughter.

When they first learned they were to have a girl, Korekiyo was unsure of how to feel. He had never been good with girls, not once in his life, and for a long time considered his relationship with Tsumugi to simply be a fluke. (Yes, he’s an anthropologist, but no one ever said he was good with _modern_ people, dammit).

Then he imagines a little girl, a perfect little girl with long dark locks of hair and big blue eyes, and his heart aches with a longing he’s never felt before.

(It’s love, he thinks later. That’s what he’s aching with.)

* * *

 

Mirai Shinguuji enters the world in their home with a loud cry on December 18th, and it breaks Korekiyo’s heart to hear her cry even for a moment. It doesn’t help that Tsumugi cries too, because twenty-four hours of hard labor will do that, and she’s exhausted. Korekiyo holds her for the better half of that time, murmuring to her and ignoring his own fears while he assures her everything will be alright.

He’s not sure he really believes it until the tiny bundle of blankets is placed on Tsumugi’s chest, and she pulls her shirt down a bit to make skin-to-skin contact with their daughter. For once, Korekiyo’s hands are bare, but even though he longs to feel the soft new skin on his fingers…

He doesn’t.

Instead, Korekiyo holds his family in his arms while Tsumugi nurses their daughter for the first time, and the midwife helps to clean the two of them along with the bed. All the while, he wants to touch her so badly, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel ready.

So he watches Mirai in Tsumugi’s arms for a while, until she finally blinks open big blue eyes and squints narrowly at him, her little face scrunched up, tiny hands curled into even tinier fists. Korekiyo and Mirai’s eyes meet for the very first time.

Korekiyo can’t blink. He can’t look away.

His bare, scarred hands move to the mask around his face, that he still hasn’t removed, at least not while the midwife is around, and he pulls it down to rest around his neck. Korekiyo bares his crooked jaw and terrible scars to the world as he leans down, gently, ever so gently, pressing his forehead against his infant daughter’s like a cat might do to its kittens.

“Hello, my future flower,” Korekiyo breathes. “I… I am your father.”

She yawns, and he cries tears of joy.

It’s then that Tsumugi Shirogane knows that everything will work out between the three of them.


End file.
